


The Case of the Missing Corvair

by delphia2000



Series: The Chinatown Mysteries [3]
Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphia2000/pseuds/delphia2000





	The Case of the Missing Corvair

"I'm not accusing you, Mary Margaret; I just want to know if this is one of your moronic practical jokes," Kermit bellowed, nose to nose with the prettily pouting detective, "because if it is, I suggest you consider the possible repercussions of such a rash act and give them back to me without further fun at my expense or I'll be forced to terminate your existence!"

"I told you, I don't have your keys, Kermit," she protested. "Besides, your 'termination' threats don't scare me. I carry a gun too, you know."

"Mine's bigger."

"Contrary to popular belief, bigger doesn't always impress a girl, Griffin."

Paul Blaisdell leaned on the door frame of his office, watching the confrontation quietly. He preferred not to interfere in personal business between his people, knowing it was best to let them work it out themselves, but Griffin was making a complete ass of himself and he owed the man better than this. Even if it was, in a way, entertaining.

Skalany stood up from behind her desk where she'd been sitting, carrying a handful of investigation folders, but Griffin came swiftly around from where he'd been leaning on her desk to cut her off. "I'm not amused. Now where is it?"

As Mary Margaret tried to move around him, Paul noticed the look in the ex-mercenary's eye when he blocked her. Rage that he was certain had nothing to do with the current situation was building up to a fine storm. Peter wasn't back yet, but it was clear he'd better step in now.

Straightening up, he called out, "Griffin? Lose something?"

"His manners," Skalany quipped, taking advantage of the distraction to push past the bantam tornado in her path.

"Oh, come on, Skalany. We all know Kermit never had any of those," commented Blake, never looking up from the box of wires and micro-boards he was fiddling with.

Griffin glared at his sometimes sidekick before answering, "It's my car. Someone helped themselves to my keys, right out of my coat pocket and took it. You'd think something would be relatively safe from theft in a police station."

"You think someone stole your car? Why didn't you report this?" Paul asked.

"I did. I reported it to myself and now I'm investigating," Griffin insisted.

Blaisdell noted the stance Kermit had taken, arms folded and shoulders hunched, almost as if struggling to hold something dangerous in. If only the man knew how little the dark glasses really hid--at least to those who knew him. Then again, no one knew Kermit like he did.

"Accusing your co-workers of grand theft auto is hardly my idea of an investigation, Griffin. My office, now."

"But Captain...Paul.." Kermit protested, obviously surprised by the order.

"Now!"

Paul turned his back on the man and went to sit at his desk. Griffin came in, his spine rigid with anger, making his stride short and stiff. He carefully closed the door as if wanting badly to slam it. Paul wished he could give the man the satisfaction, but the glass was expensive to replace and the budget, perilously thin. Griffin stood at the edge of the desk, arms folded again as if still trying to hold everything in.

Leaning over to hit the intercom button on his phone, Paul ordered, "Sargent, no calls, no interruptions except Caine. The minute Peter shows up, send him in."

"Yes, sir," came the crackled reply and Paul leaned back in his chair to finger his lip delicately.

Handling Griffin was probably akin to handling the ferocious mythical creature of the same name. It required delicacy but firmness. "You think I don't have a calendar, Kermit? I know what today is. And what it means to you."

Griffin's angry stance melted away and he dropped into a chair, tugging at shaggy locks that fell over his sunglasses. "Damn it, Paul," he muttered. "Every year, I think I can handle this and every year, it's the same thing."

"David wouldn't be happy if he knew you were doing this. Change," he urged. "Don't let it get to you. Think about the good times instead."

"Tried that. Makes it worse."

"Then make new memories."

Kermit leaned back in the chair, asking, "You suggesting I should forget about my brother's birthday?"

"For God's sake, Kermit, you know I'm not. I'm suggesting you stop wallowing in an annual depression and get on with your life. It's your birthday too. Celebrate it. When was the last time you went out on a date?"

"Vegas, six years ago. Met for drinks at a casino, got drunk, got married and then she found out what I did for a living. In case you've forgotten, that bucket of water you dumped on me to sober me up soaked the divorce papers. Saudi, wasn't it? Agraba or some such place. They were mad you wasted so much good drinking water."

Paul snorted, not wanting to let the laugh out, but he could see the smile hovering about Kermit's lips. "That's the most shit-faced I've ever seen you, Griffin and it would have been worse had I used the water they suggested. Where the hell did you find scotch in an alcohol-dry Muslim town anyway?"

Griffin was openly smiling now. "Smuggled it in. Marked as shave lotion. You know me: be prepared."

"That's the Boy Scout motto. I've heard you called a lot of names, but never Boy Scout."

"Actually, I was in the Boy Scouts. They put my first gun in my hands, come to think of it. Got kicked out when I talked the rest of my patrol into making a raid on the Girl Scout camp next door. Sadly, all we got away with was their candy. Hadn't a clue about panty raids at that point."

Paul laughed loudly. Grinning at his friend, he asked, "Why don't we go get a drink after work tonight? Talk about old times. It's been a while."

Kermit nodded. "Guess it would give me something to do besides wallowing in depression for the evening. Although, I'll probably still end up with a hang-over tomorrow morning, same as last year."

"This year, you won't be alone."

"Might want to rethink that offer once I get to the part where I bring it all up again with my head in the can."

Paul assured him, "I know where I can get another bucket of water."

A brief tap on the door interrupted their conversation. Without further invitation, Peter opened the door far enough to stick his head in, asking, "Safe to come in?"

"Come on in, Peter," Blaisdell ordered, "And close it behind you. Mission accomplished?"

Peter smiled, "Even the fat lady sang. Can I...?"

He looked to Paul, who nodded.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a well worn set of keys and handed them to Kermit. "Happy Birthday. We got your car detailed for you."

"Happy Birthday, Kermit," Paul echoed.

Griffin's jaw dropped as he looked at the keys, then at foster son and father. "How did you manage to sneak these...oh, my God, Skalany. She's going to...ask questions."

"Oh, I took care of that already," Peter explained. "She warned me you were on the warpath and Paul was reaming you for it before I even got past the front desk. Told her I took your car because mine was low on gas and I had to go get a gas can filled so I could get mine out of the parking lot. She's probably waiting to hear gunshots right now. What say we go out for a drink after work? I'll buy the first round."

Paul looked to Kermit for the answer and the man shrugged. "Fine with me as long as no one mentions my birthday to anyone else. I hate having strange waiters and waitresses sing at me. Delancy's at 6?"

"Great. I'd better get back to work or the boss will be reaming me next for loafing on the job."

Peter left and Kermit got up, jingling his keys thoughtfully. "Guess I'd better go apologize to Mary Margaret. No matter how much it hurts."

"Suck it up and be a man, Griffin. Got to pay the piper."

Slipping the sunglasses off for a second, Kermit rubbed his eyes tiredly. Then, bare-faced, he looked at Paul and said quietly, "Thanks. For...everything."

Paul sensed a moment he couldn't let pass. Getting up from his desk he walked over to the most loyal backup he'd ever had and threw a companionable arm around his shoulders to give him as manly a hug as he dared for a brief moment. Then he slapped him on the back to cover the sentiment. "Don't mention it. We'll have a second drink for David tonight too."

"You know, his birth was the best gift I ever got for my birthday. Didn't realize it til he was gone. He'd be...let's see.."

"Peter's age," Paul filled in for him.

"Oh, yeah. Probably just as hot-headed too."

"And you're not?"

Kermit grinned at him as he put his sunglasses back on, settling them in position with a one-fingered shove. "I'm just ill-mannered."

Paul opened the door for him and watched as he marched over to Skalany's desk where she waited for him with a satisfied smirk on her face. "Guess I owe you an apology, Mary Margaret."

Her grin broadened until Kermit continued, "And I'll see you get it as soon as I get some of those manners you keep talking about."

Her face fell and, mouth open in amazement, she stared, following his path as he strode into his office and close his door firmly. Peter was grinning at her as Blake shook his head, saying, "That's our Kermit."

Paul smiled to himself as he quietly closed his door and sat back at his desk. Putting his feet up, he leaned back, hands behind his head and looking up, said softly, "Happy Birthday to you too, David."

The End


End file.
